


The case of Santa Claus

by Doctorwhogirl13



Series: Sherlock and John one Shots [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, M/M, mention of sherlocks childhood, santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 15:50:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8923153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctorwhogirl13/pseuds/Doctorwhogirl13
Summary: Sherlock doesn't believe in Santa. It's not logical. John decides to change that.





	

“It's not possible, and highly illogical. I refuse to listen to your hairbrained opinions any longer.” Sherlock flopped on the couch and curled himself in a ball, back turned towards John. 

“You're saying, that you, Sherlock Holmes, the biggest 5 year old I know, doesn't believe in Santa Claus? Have you ever? You know, believed in the old Saint Nick?”

Sherlock scoffed. “Why would I believe in anything so trivial? It is....” He looked across the small gap between their chairs at John lounging comfortably and currently giving him a questioning look.   
“Alright fine. There was a breid of illogical thought I had when I was quite young. But my worldview changed suddenly one day and i saw the error of my ways.”

John suddenly became interested and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I sense a story here. Please go on.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “You will not let this rest until I tell you, will you?”

“Nope!” John said with a cheeky grin, popping the P. 

Sherlock’s head fell back against the top of the chair and he sighed heavily. “Fine. But you have to promise you won’t tell another living soul, and then you will drop this whole nonsense of St. Nick.”

“Cross my heart I swear I will do just that” John responded. 

Sherlock closed his eyes almost painfully began telling the story as quickly as possible. In the same fashion as when he did his rapid fire deductions. 

“I believed in the story of Santa until I was 3 despite the pleas to the contrary from Mycroft. I decided that Christmas Eve I was going to stay up and catch a glimpse of the man in red myself. But of course I wasn’t going to tell anyone that. They would just make fun of me, or look at me with those pitied looks. You know how I hate pity. So the legends said he came right at the stroke of midnight. I didn’t sleep much even as a child. So it was no bother for me to pretend to be sleeping, then sneak downstairs a few minutes before midnight. I had already preselected my hiding spot. Perfect visibility to the tree, but several easy exit points if need be. The grandfather clock struck midnight and no one came down our chimney. No present magically appeared under the tree. But at that point I was determined. I was going to see Santa even if he was running late. I waited from my vantage point on the stairs, until I heard someone moving around. The clock showed it was almost 6am. I looked at the tree, and there was my father, with a stack of wrapped gifts, placing them under the tree himself. After that, I stopped believing in Santa because I realised as everyone had been telling me, it is just not logical.”

Sherlock sat back in the chair and tried to reestablish a look of indifference. 

“That is one of the saddest stories I have ever heard! Did you ever ask your father about it later?” John inquired. 

“Why would I? The ruse was up, and my childhood crashed into the wall of reality. I’m sure they knew something was up though, because the whole Santa thing wasn’t there the next year.” 

“Perhaps your father was simply helping Santa that year? And then because you stopped believing in him, he stopped coming.” John offered as a suggestion. 

“Come on, John. You can’t actually believe in Santa. You are a grown man for goodness sake. That’s a bit embarrassing on your part.”

“Alright. I am going to prove to you that Santa is real. Tell me one thing you want for Christmas that you know I can’t afford and so won’t just buy it for you anyways.” John pulled out a blank piece of paper and rummaged for a pen. 

Sherlock gave john an exasperated and skeptical look. “Really John, I don’t see how..”

“Just tell me Sherlock. What harm could it do?” John interrupted. 

“Fine. Since its release, I have had my eye on the DC5-163. The digital optical one. It would be quite useful in my experiments. But it does cost about 1200 pounds. I know what you make, and there is no way you could go out and buy one.”

“Uh huh. Thanks for that...” John said almost absentmindedly as he wrote things on the paper. “Alright. I have written a letter to santa for you asking for that specific microscope. I sent my letter out weeks ago, but I’ll put yours in the post today”

“I still don’t see what all of the bother is, but if you want to go through all of that trouble just to prove you are wrong, then so be it.” Sherlock said, just before his text alert went off. “I’ve got a case on. I won’t need you on this one. Nothing more than a 3. I can tell you would rather stay in today anyways. I’ll text if it turns out to be anything more.” 

He threw on his coat, and with that, Sherlock was off, his coat swirling behind him. 

Christmas Eve came before they both gave the situation another thought. Sherlock was crouched over his chemistry equipment he had spread out over the kitchen table when John padded in and began grabbing different things. He pulled out a plate and a box of cookies and began pouring some on the plate. 

“What are you doing with those?” Sherlock asked, not even looking up from the beaker. 

“Setting them out for Santa of course.” John said matter of factly.   
Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You are still on about that? I have put it out of my mind. Why didn’t you?”

“Because it is a Christmas tradition. And it is a thank you to the big man himself for coming all this way from his home and bringing us presents. You mean to tell me you are not at all excited about getting that new microscope?” 

“No I’m not.” Sherlock said pulling his head back from the solutions. “And you know why? Because I won’t be getting one. Santa isn’t real, and nothing you can say will make me change my mind on that topic.”

“Right. Well, I might not be able to convince you, but just wait until the morning. Perhaps you will change your mind.” John said, setting the plate of cookies down on the table. “I am turning in early. Be sure you are at least in bed before midnight, please? Santa knows if you aren’t sleeping. And he won’t show up if you aren’t sleeping.” John shot him a pointed look before heading to the bedroom that he and Sherlock shared. 

The next thing Sherlock knew, the clock was striking 1130. He sat up straight, stretching muscles that had been in one position for far too long. “I should go to bed. If only to keep John from complaining that I messed up his visit from Santa.” he mumbled to himself. He placed stoppers on some of the more dangerous chemicals and headed to his bedroom. 

He woke in the morning tangled up with John in a rare moment of being dazed from sleep.   
“John..?” he mumbled, fighting off sleep. 

“Go back to sleep Sherlock. It’s too early.” John mumbled. 

“It’s morning, John. I’m hungry. Make me some food.” Sherlock demanded. 

“It really must be a Christmas miracle if you are asking for food.” John replied before sighing heavily. “Fine. I’ll make you breakfast for Christmas morning.”

He groaned as he raised himself from the bed, swinging his feet to the floor. 

As soon as John vacated his spot, Sherlock flopped into it, plastering his face into John’s pillow and stealing the warmth of the sheets. 

“Um, Sherlock? You should come out here and see this.” John called out from the kitchen. 

“But John. I’m comfy. And the food isn’t ready...” Sherlock called back. 

“Get on out here you overgrown toddler. You will want to see this.” 

A few minutes later, Sherlock shuffled out of the bedroom with a loosely draped sheet around his waist. “What was so important that you had to force me out of bed. Usually you can’t even get me into bed.” He came to stop next to John, and looked in the same direction. Towards the small tree they had set up in the corner. The night before it had simply been a decorated tree. Now it seemed to be perched on top of a pile of brightly coloured packages. 

“I told you Father Christmas was real.” John stated. “The cookies and milk are gone, and he left the gifts.”

Sherlock looked at the gifts skeptically. “You had Graham come over and put them under the tree, didn’t you. I know you didn’t leave the bed all last night.” 

“Greg. And no. I didn’t. Look around. I’m sure you can tell if someone has been here last night by like the placement of the rug or something like that.” 

“Obviously.” Sherlock glanced around. “You’re right. No one has come through the front door since we went to bed.”

“What is that you always say? Eliminate the impossible and whatever is left?...” John began.

“Whatever remains, however improbable must be the truth.” Sherlock finished. “So, you are saying that I should consider that Santa is real and he is the one that brought us these gifts?”

John looked at him pointedly. “I’m not saying anything. You can make your own conclusions from there.” 

Suddenly, a look of pure child-like excitement spread over Sherlock’s face. “Do you think he brought that microscope? You did put it in the letter, right?” 

He dashed over to the tree, digging through the colorful packages, trying to locate one with his name on it. Far back in the corner, he found something in a tall box. Pulling it free from the stack, he ripped it open as quickly as possible. John was standing back, watching with pure amusement as he watched. 

“He got it right. He really got it right!” Sherlock exclaimed as he finally uncovered the box. “This is the best Christmas ever!” He bounded over to John and wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. “Thank you John. You made this Christmas the best ever. I have you, and found Christmas magic again.”


End file.
